


On Curiosities and Crossroads Deals

by Charity_Angel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charity_Angel/pseuds/Charity_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which demon!Dean asks a burning question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for challenge #130: Identity.

"I got to know..." Dean eyeballed his drinking partner, checking for a reaction. "Why the hell'd you sell your soul for something as stupid as that?"

Crowley set his cocktail down primly and gave Dean a level stare.

"Double digits," was all he said. It was the same story he had given Bobby all those years ago.

"I don't buy it," Dean said.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Okay, so it wasn't exactly double digits, then," he admitted. "But I made sure my contract was well worded."

Dean frowned, thinking it over. Did Crowley mean exactly what Dean thought he meant? The reason he had asked in the first place?

Crowley sighed. "Those black eyes did nothing for your brain power, Squirrel: I signed for _me_ , not my body."

Yep, Crowley definitely meant what Dean thought he meant.

"So your meat-suit, uh, 'benefits' when you move in?"

"Naturally."

"... you possessed Sam..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it couldn't just be left there because Crowley wouldn't stop snickering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently I wrote a 'second chapter' of this ages ago and forgot to post it, like a moron.

Crowley gave him a crafty look, that knowing smirk lurking at the corner of his mouth as he contemplated Dean.

“So I did.” He waited an uncomfortable moment in which Dean took a sip of his beer and tried not to think what he was thinking before adding:

“Tell me, Dean – why are you thinking about what Moose is packing into those boxer-briefs?”

Dean inhaled his beer, and was infinitely grateful that he didn’t really need his lungs any more, because it meant he wasn’t choking like he would have done back when he was human. Still, it set him back in being able to make any witty retorts.

“You’re evil now, Squirrel; you’re allowed to embrace these thoughts if that’s what floats your boat. I’ve got to say, there’s a lot of money riding on it downstairs. I personally had a monkey on you and the angel, but…” He shrugged, and Dean was left trying to work out what he meant by ‘monkey’, before realising what he really should be considering.

“Me and Cas?”

There was another roll of the eyes. Crowley was as good at conveying contempt as Sam had ever been. “Have you seen the way you moon over him? It’s sickening, really. And I’m all for healthy kinks, but demons and angels really don’t mix so that’s an infatuation you might want to kick to the kerb. And if you want to do that literally, let me know: I’d love to watch you take him down a peg.”

“I’m…” Dean started to object to Crowley’s statement, stopped, and considered his position carefully. Why did he still feel such loyalty to Cas and Sam? He was a demon, for hell’s sake; he shouldn’t still feel like this. Sam was the irritating leech who had held him back his whole life, the albatross around his neck. Sam was the reason his life was this crap-fest in the first place. And as for Castiel, well, he had just delayed the inevitable, hadn’t he? He had yanked Dean out of Hell, but couldn’t keep him out. Dean had always known where he belonged, had always been destined for a blackened soul, and one hapless angel who couldn’t keep track of his own mojo to save himself couldn’t change that.

He owed them nothing.

But he still didn’t feel like that.

He owed Crowley nothing either, not really. Crowley had gotten him the fucking Mark of Cain in the first place, sack of shit that he was. But, that same Mark gave Dean an interesting position in the hierarchy of Hell, made him untouchable. And Crowley… he had a healthy fear of Dean’s power, if nothing else, and he was an interesting drinking partner. They snarked all night long, which was kind of fun, and freeing.

Dean shrugged. “No challenge in that these days,” he said. He hoped it sounded as light and careless as Crowley would want it to. Because it was true, and that was a horrible thought. Cas was still dying, and all because he had done something fucking stupid to help Dean out of a situation of his own making.

Crowley made some noise of agreement into his fru-fru cocktail. “Pathetic, isn’t he? Not a look that suits him.”

No, it didn’t: Cas was supposed to be a bad-ass, not the crumbling shell of an angel he currently was. Sam was more bad-ass than Castiel these days, from what Dean was hearing about his little brother’s antics. Hell’s grapevine was suspiciously quiet about what Cas was up to, which meant he wasn’t up to much, wasn’t poking any hornets’ nests in his quest to find out what had happened to Dean. And Dean knew he would be, if he felt up to it. Maybe he should be grateful that Cas wasn’t on his tail, because he and Crowley weren’t exactly keeping a low profile: it wouldn’t be too hard for an angel as powerful as Cas should be to track them down. And Dean didn’t want tracking down: he was _free_ , for the first time in his life. There were no expectations of him now. He didn’t have to save the world, or Sammy, any more.

But, God-fucking-dammit, a part of him – kind of a large part – still wanted to.

Crowley was behind him, just over his shoulder.

“Embrace it, Dean,” he purred in Dean’s ear. “Because I’ve been in there – I know exactly what Sam has to offer. I wouldn’t blame you at all if you chained him up and rode him until he dies of old age. Or exhaustion.”

Dean rolled his eyes and ignored him. Because Crowley was only trying to get a rise out of him. He had been trying that a lot lately, in an attempt to get Dean moving in some hellacious direction, get Dean working like any good demon should: recruiting souls, raising (figurative) hell, that kind of thing.

“Oh, okay then, your angel if you really want. He’d be a great fucktoy as long as we can keep him topped up, and I’m sure you wouldn’t object to offing an angel every now and then to keep pretty little Castiel ticking over.”

No, Dean wouldn’t object to that: it would probably be fun if he was honest; picking off a dickbag angel or two every now and then. But he didn’t think Cas would ever forgive him if Dean forced him to live at the expense of who-knew how many of his brothers.

Crowley slammed a hand down on the bar in irritation.

“Stop mooning over the fucking angel and pick up a girl, if you’re that determined to cling to your total heterosexuality. Hell, pick up two.”

And he stalked off, out the door, like a diva. He had his phone in his hand, and Dean had no doubts he would be back after he had taken out his frustration on everyone in Hell. He always was.

There were actually a couple of likely-looking girls sitting at a booth in the corner, now that he looked. And all Crowley’s teasing had gotten him more worked up than he would like to admit. He flashed them his best smile and felt a small thrill of vaguely hollow triumph when the blonde smiled back at him and elbowed her friend.


End file.
